By Her Side

She frowned, tracing her pen along the margin of the article. It wasn’t unusual for her to see the officers at circuit court. Maybe she’d caught a glimpse of him there at some point and hadn’t realized who he was.

Right. Like you would have forgotten him!

Felicity shook the pesky thought away. She was focused on her career and so far nothing—or no one—had distracted her. Hopefully now that he’d interviewed her, Chris would set Tim’s mind at ease that there wasn’t anything the police could do about the letters and she could continue to report the news. And she and this particular officer—all right, this particular attractive officer—wouldn’t be crossing paths again.

Chapter Three

Chris didn’t make it to the revolving door at the front entrance of Hamilton Media before Tim intercepted him.

“What’s the verdict?”

Chris plowed his fingers through his hair. “Anonymous stalker. Angry. Intelligent.” A bad combination. “My guess is that he’s familiar enough with the legal system to know that if I knocked on his door and hauled him in right now, he’d be out in time to have lunch at Betty’s Bakeshoppe. His threats are subtle but definitely escalating. At this point, he’s trying to scare her.”

And it wasn’t working.

Remembering Felicity’s calm response to the situation rekindled the respect he’d had for her during the interview.

“So it’s nothing to worry about. He’ll lose interest.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I know we don’t have much to go on, but I’d like to do some follow-up anyway.”

“Tell me this isn’t going to mean more bad publicity for the company.”

Tim’s comment made Chris’s back teeth grind together. “Is that what this interview was about? Protecting the company?”

Tim’s eyes held no apology. “Of course I’m concerned about Felicity, but you know as well as I do that when the Observer printed the story about Jeremy a few weeks ago, it was sending a message. Anything that happens at Hamilton Media—and to our family—is fair game. It’s news. And I refuse to become fodder for the Observer’s gossip column.”

Chris wasn’t exactly thrilled by the possibility either but in his mind, Felicity’s safety outweighed the cost of negative publicity.

“Felicity isn’t taking this very seriously, either. Someone has to.” Someone had to protect her.

“I’ll talk to Dad,” Tim said, as if that settled it.

Chris sent up a silent prayer for patience. “This isn’t Dad’s decision,” he pointed out. “You asked me to talk to Felicity as a police officer. I’m on duty. I write a report, file it and then I decide the best way to go from here.”

They hadn’t had a stare-down contest since they were kids, when they needed something to kill time on long car rides or while they waited for dinner. When he’d gone up against Jeremy, Jeremy was always the hands-down champion but it could go either way between Tim and himself.

This time he won. So he was twenty-seven years old. It still felt good.

Tim smiled faintly. “Whatever you think is best, Officer Hamilton. I wouldn’t want you to arrest me for—”

“Obstruction,” Chris said helpfully.

“Right.” Tim gave him a mocking salute but there was a glint of laughter in his eyes. “I better get back to work. One of us has to keep Hamilton Media at the top.”

Chris knew it wasn’t a deliberate cut but he still felt the sting. He knew that Tim would discuss the situation with their father but for once Wallace wouldn’t have the final say. Felicity’s stalker wasn’t just Hamilton Media business anymore. It was police business. And, depending on Chris’s decision, another wedge that had the potential to drive him and his dad further apart.

“You’re still here? Did someone do something about the funky traffic lights at the corner yet?” Felicity swept past him and was several yards away before he realized she’d asked him a question.

He caught up to her in two easy strides.

“Where are you off to, Lois?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “There’s a guy in blue tights I have to interview. Kind of strange if you ask me. Spandex isn’t the most comfortable fabric.”

“I’ll take your word for that.” Chris grinned.

Felicity headed toward the parking lot, skirted around the police car and slanted a look at him when he remained at her side. “Is this a police escort, Officer Hamilton?”

“Just walking a lady to her car.” Power walking a lady to her car. In spite of the oppressive August heat, Felicity moved in fifth gear. And not a hair out of place, either.

“It’s broad daylight,” Felicity said, with just a touch of exasperation. “I’m sure I’ll be…”

She stopped so abruptly that Chris slammed into her. The momentum pushed Felicity forward and instinctively Chris reached out to steady her. His hands wrapped around her arms and she winced.

“Okay, maybe I should be interviewing you instead of the guy in the blue tights. Maybe you’re the superhero.”

“Sorry. My Kevlar vest.” Chris’s lips twitched. “And I hate to disappoint you, but I’m only bulletproof when I’m wearing it.”

“This is why I don’t wear heels,” Felicity grumbled as she pulled off one leather shoe and inspected it.

“So that’s why you stopped. You have a flat.”

Felicity twisted around to face him and the movement brought her into close range. So close he could see that her velvety brown irises were ringed with copper.

“No, I stopped because of that.”

Chris followed the direction she was pointing and his gaze settled on a baby-blue Cadillac straight off the set of Happy Days.

He would have whistled his appreciation except for one thing. Both back tires had been slashed.

Felicity pushed her shoe back on and headed over to survey the damage. Anger surged up and crested inside her. She dug into the pocket of her linen blazer for a caramel candy. Popping it into her mouth, she looked from the tires to Chris, who was prowling around the car. The humor had vanished from his eyes and his mouth had flattened into a grim line. He looked every inch the police officer.

“Don’t kids have anything better to do than vandalize people’s property?” And here she’d been harping about nothing happening in a parking lot in the middle of the morning.

Her words pulled at Chris’s attention. “You’re sure this was kids?”

In an instant she knew what he meant. Her secret un-admirer. She refused to believe it.

“It had to be.” The words sounded weak, even to her. She scanned the nearest vehicles parked close to hers, searching for similar damage. No. Just her beloved Caddy.

“What time did you get to work this morning?”

“About quarter after eight.”

“Do you park in the same place every day?”

“I park wherever I can find a spot.” Which meant that if it was her un-admirer, he knew what kind of car she drove. A cold shiver danced up her spine, raising the hair on her arms.

She could see by Chris’s expression that he had come to the same conclusion.

“I’ll call a tow truck.” He lifted his radio out of the holder on his belt and took a few steps away, murmuring quietly into it.

Felicity looked at her watch and resisted the urge to howl. But then Chris would have felt obligated to make another call for someone to come and take her away. She concentrated on the caramel candy that was melting in her mouth even though what she really wanted to do was crush it between her teeth. Her dad’s anti-stress remedy. He’d told her by the time the candy had dissolved, so would her temper. And it always worked. Well, most of the time. She’d kept a pocketful since she was seven years old.

“All set.” The frown that had settled between Chris’s eyebrows was still there. “They’re on their way.”

“This guy didn’t happen to leave a message under my windshield wiper, did he? Maybe one with a letterhead on it?” Felicity tried to ease the tension with humor. She couldn’t let him see how the mangled tires had affected her equilibrium. She propped one hip against the door to steady herself. Her legs felt like overcooked pasta.

“He left a message all right.” Chris bumped the shredded tire with the toe of his boot. “It’s right here.”

“Felicity told me about her tires.” Tim showed up at the police department later that afternoon. “Someone’s car was keyed in that parking lot a few weeks ago.”

Chris’s breath hissed between his teeth. “Usually if it’s vandalism, someone sticks a knife in the tire and walks away. The air seeps out, the tire goes flat. The vandal walks away. Felicity’s tires looked like fettuccini. There was a truckload of aggression driving that knife into the rubber.”

“Dad doesn’t want any more publicity.”

“I’m going to follow up on this.” Tim valued the direct approach, so Chris was going to be direct. “And I’m off duty in a few minutes. Let’s go talk to Dad together.”

Hopefully they could put aside their differences to make the best decision. For the family and Felicity.

There was no way he was going to step away from this now. No matter how Felicity had kept up a show of bravery, he still had a hunch it was all show. Letters were easier to ignore than a blatant attack on your personal property. When the mechanic had loaded up the car, Felicity had given the convertible a final comforting pat on its baby-blue fin. And for a split second, he’d seen the flicker of fear in her eyes.

“We can take my car to the hospital,” Tim said.

The Ferrari. Okay, he was big enough to admit it. He practically drooled with envy whenever he saw his brother’s mode of transportation but he wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to enjoy those butter-soft leather seats and the low purr of an eight cylinder, either. He’d leave his motorcycle baking in the parking lot for a few more hours.

“Can I drive?”

Tim’s bark of laughter echoed around the room and Chris realized that laughter had been something their family hadn’t indulged in much lately. Especially Tim. He was so much like Wallace—so confident and driven—it was easy to assume he’d taken his place at the company helm without any additional effort. Now, Chris suddenly wondered if that was true.

“No way. I’m not giving my keys to someone who took out a mailbox the day after he got his learner’s permit.” Tim tossed the keys in the air and deftly caught them again.

“You really need to learn to let go of things, bro.”

When they got to the hospital, Nora and Heather met them in the hallway. Heather walked right into his arms without hesitation. Her cheek rested against his shoulder and he patted her back, feeling the tremors that coursed through her.

“Nice to know that you still need your brother now that you’ve got Ethan hanging around,” Chris whispered teasingly, referring to Nashville Living’s staff photographer—and the reason Heather was walking two feet above the ground these days.

Heather’s fingers wiggled into his ribs and he jumped. She’d discovered his weakness when they were four and never let him forget it. “I’ll always need my brothers,” she said, then lowered her voice. “All of them.”

Jeremy. A silent message passed between them. Although Jeremy still spoke with him on the phone occasionally, Chris was getting concerned about what he saw as Jeremy’s increasing detachment from the family. At first he’d thought his oldest brother just needed some time and space but lately Jeremy seemed to be pulling away from them even more.

Chris kept one arm around Heather and wrapped the other one around his mother, bending down slightly to plant a kiss on her temple.

“We were just going to the cafeteria for something to eat,” Nora told him. “Do you and Tim want to join us?”

“No.” Tim pushed the word into the conversation before Chris could reply. He was in business mode again. “Is Dad awake?”

Nora shook her head. “The nurse will be in soon to give him his meds, so maybe you can say hello then.”

“We’ll wait here. Someone should be with him.”

Chris gave his mom’s shoulders a comforting squeeze. “If the cafeteria has one of those jumbo cinnamon rolls, smuggle one up to me, okay?”

As soon as the two women were out of earshot, Tim gave Chris a meaningful look. “We don’t want to say anything to upset him.”

A not-so-subtle hint to toe the Hamilton line, Chris thought wryly.

“No one will give me a copy of the Observer.” They were the first words out of Wallace’s mouth as Chris and Tim entered the room a few minutes later.

“That’s because it increases your blood pressure,” Chris said, his voice mild.

“I’m just waiting to see what dirt they dig up next.” Wallace shifted restlessly and his intense, dark-eyed gaze flickered over them, pausing to rest on Chris. “Tim said you had a meeting with Felicity Simmons.”

Chris nodded. “I’m concerned about the letters she’s been getting. It’s not your average disgruntled citizen, Dad. Felicity’s tires were slashed while she was at work this morning—”

“You don’t know that it’s related,” Tim interrupted. “It could be a coincidence.”

“Are you willing to risk Felicity’s safety if it isn’t?” Chris was frustrated with his brother’s tunnel vision.

“The Observer is going to have a field day with this,” Wallace muttered.

“They won’t find out.”

“They found out about Jeremy, didn’t they?” Wallace’s breathing increased and his hand gripped the metal rail on the side of the bed. Chris instinctively reached out and covered it with his own and gave it a reassuring squeeze. As soon as he did, he realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d touched his father. While Nora was affectionate and generous with hugs, Wallace was just the opposite. An occasional, awkward pat on the back was all he could manage to communicate his approval. And there hadn’t been many of those for Chris over the years.

“There has to be a way to keep Felicity safe and carry out an investigation without the Observer finding out about it,” Tim said.

“There is.” Wallace continued to stare at Chris. “You can help us.”

“I already have. I talked to Captain Driscoll earlier today and told him you would be concerned about the publicity. He promised we could keep a tight lid on this at the department and he officially assigned me to handle Felicity’s case.”

Wallace shook his head. “It’s not enough. If something happens to that reporter, there’s no way to keep it quiet. And we can’t ignore the fact that the same person who sent the letters to Miss Simmons may have leaked the story about Jeremy to the Observer.”

Chris glanced at Tim and saw him nod in agreement. The truth was, he hadn’t considered a connection between the two until now. His concern was Felicity’s safety. But obviously Tim and his father had.

“I want to hire you,” Wallace rasped out.

“Hire me?” Chris wondered if the pain meds were starting to have an adverse effect on him.

Realization dawned in Tim’s eyes and a slow smile spread across his face. “He’s right. It makes sense. You can keep the investigation in the family and keep Felicity safe.”

Chris didn’t consider himself a slow learner, but they’d lost him somewhere between hiring him and keeping Felicity safe.

Wallace’s gaze was riveted on him. “Until you figure out who’s writing those letters, I want you to be her bodyguard. Keep a close eye on her.”

Chris gaped at him. “I have a job, Dad.”

“Until three. Then you’re off duty,” Tim put in.

Chris wanted to put his brother in a headlock. No, that wouldn’t work. He could still talk. “You can’t hire someone to be a bodyguard without the other person’s permission.”

“I’ll take care of that.” Tim casually crossed his arms.

Chris read his mind. If Felicity didn’t agree, she’d be covering the elementary school’s summer baseball games. He was about to protest when suddenly he felt pressure on his fingers.

To his amazement, Wallace was squeezing his hand.

“Your chance to help out, son,” he whispered. “Maybe it’s not so bad to have a cop in the family.”

The chance to help. Chris wavered. That’s what he’d been hoping for. A chance to show Wallace that even though he wasn’t working for Hamilton Media, he was still a valuable part of the family.

It was an answer to a prayer he’d been praying for years.

“I’ll do it. But—” he gave Tim a warning look “—let me be the one to talk to Felicity.”

Chapter Four

Felicity tried to concentrate on her next assignment but the image of the Cadillac’s slashed tires stalked her like the paparazzi chasing celebrities on Oscar night.

What if Chris had been right? What if the person who was clearly a prime candidate for anger-management classes was the same one who’d sent the letters?

For the hundredth time, she silently backtracked through the stories she’d written, searching for something that might have triggered her un-admirer’s anger. Other than the mention of the city council meeting, which was open to the public, the letters were so vague it was difficult to pinpoint what might have set him off.

“Go home, Simmons, you’re making the rest of us look bad.” Lyle poked his head around the half wall, an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth. The cigar had remained unlit for the past six months, ever since his doctor had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse—quit smoking or settle into a long relationship with an oxygen machine. Felicity couldn’t imagine the temptation that dangling, unlit cigar offered, but Lyle had told her that without it he was like a preschooler without his security blanket. He might not be able to smoke it but he needed it close by.

Felicity looked up at the clock on the wall. Almost six o’clock. Because of Mr. Slasher, she hadn’t made it halfway through her to-do list.

“By the way, your ride is waiting for you.”

“My ride?” She hadn’t called a taxi to take her home yet. The mechanic had told Felicity they had to special order her tires and it would take a day or two to get them in. The downside of owning a piece of history.

Lyle shrugged. “So he says. Ask Herman if you don’t believe me. He practically does a background check on anyone who comes to pick up one of his girls.”

Any of the single women who worked in the building were automatically tucked under Herman Gordon’s protective wing. He might have been old enough to be their grandfather, but he was more intimidating than the principal on homecoming night.

“Even Herman can’t kick up a fuss if the guy’s a cop, though, can he?” Lyle chuckled and the cigar bobbed up and down. “See you tomorrow, kid.”

Chris.

Felicity’s heart took a swan dive.

Don’t read into it, Felicity chided herself. Maybe he’d found out something about the person who slashed her tires.

She shrugged on her linen jacket and grabbed the purse she kept stashed under her desk. With her heart still kicking like a stubborn toddler in the candy aisle, she made her way to the lobby.

Herman and Louise had already left for the day and the lobby was empty. Except for Chris. He was leaning casually against the wall and when he straightened, Felicity blinked. He’d packed quite a punch in his uniform, but in faded blue jeans, a white T-shirt and a pair of black canvas high-tops, he was what some women referred to as “eye candy.” His dark hair was slightly mussed, too, giving him an appealing boy-next-door quality. The crooked smile he flashed in her direction sent her nerve endings on red alert.

Something was going on. Her reporter’s intuition shifted into high gear.

“I called the garage to check on your car and the mechanic told me they were keeping it for a few days. I thought maybe you could use a ride home.”

“I didn’t realize it was so late. I was planning to call a taxi.”

“This will be faster.”

In spite of her hunch that there was something fishy going on, Felicity’s toes began to throb in her shoes, reminding her that they’d been stuffed into a funnel-shaped pair of flats all day. Another twenty minutes waiting for a taxi might cause irreparable damage and there was a pair of fuzzy slippers with her name on them right inside the door of her apartment.

“Thank you.”

Chris grinned and gave a funny bow. “Your carriage awaits, my lady.”

She hated the revolving door almost as much as the elevator but at least she could see Main Street through the glass, so it wasn’t quite the same as being confined in a windowless moving box.

She pushed through the door, momentarily shoulder to shoulder with Chris, and saw the carriage he’d referred to. Tim’s lipstick-red Ferrari was crouched in the small parking lot across the street, the one reserved for the Hamilton family.

“Hey, I might never afford one of these but it’s nice to have a brother who can.” Chris jingled the keys. “He’s working late tonight so he told me I could borrow it.”

“Is this yours?” Felicity paused and looked at the motorcycle in the parking space next to the sports car. It was an older model but meticulously cared for.

“When I want to claim it.”

She saw an extra helmet strapped to the backrest. “We can take this.”

If she’d announced to Chris that she’d written the threatening letters herself, she didn’t think she would have shocked him more.

“You’re serious? You don’t exactly look…”

She raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“I have three sisters. I know when to leave a sentence unfinished.” Chris’s hands went up between them like a shield.

She didn’t budge. She wanted to know what his first impression of her had been.

He gave in. “You just don’t look like the type who likes the wind in her hair, that’s all.”

Ouch. Felicity inwardly winced.

“Are you kidding? I’m from California. I’ve got two words for you. Highway One.” She decided she liked throwing Officer Hamilton offtrack. He shouldn’t be judging a book by its cover—or a reporter by her business suit!

“My mother taught me never to argue with a lady.” He unhooked the extra helmet and handed it to her. “You might have to…deactivate your hair clip to get the helmet on.”

Deactivate her hair clip? Felicity wasn’t sure if she should be amused or offended. Guys were clueless about what a woman needed to accessorize! She’d worn her hair long since junior high but when she’d pursued a career traditionally dominated by men, she kept it tamed in a sedate braid or confined in a clip. There were countless times she’d been tempted to get it cut short but so far she’d never quite worked up the courage.

“I’ll be fine.” She pulled the helmet on without deactivating her hair clip, just to show him that it could be done.

Chris swung one leg over the seat and put his foot down for balance, waiting for her to get on. When he started up the bike, Felicity tapped him on the shoulder.

“I need to tell you my address.” Her voice was muffled by the face shield.

“You can tell me but I already know it. I have connections.” He grinned.

Sure he did. A central database. He probably knew her height and birth date, too. Talk about your cheat sheet….

“Ready?”

She nodded, thinking that the Ferrari looked a bit sulky as they cruised past it.

He had a speech all prepared. He’d rehearsed it while he waited for Felicity to get off work and it was a good one, dealing rationally and objectively with the reasons she should go along with the whole bodyguard decision.

Then she’d picked his motorcycle over Tim’s Ferrari.

And he just knew—like he knew that Betty’s Bakeshoppe had the best éclairs in Tennessee—that his speech wasn’t going to work on Felicity. Just when he thought he was getting a read on who she was and what made her tick, she surprised him.

His relationship with a pretty redheaded reporter was going to get complicated.

In more ways than one.

He’d pulled up Felicity’s address on the computer and decided he needed to see for himself what kind of security her apartment had. Her Davis Landing address was in a neighborhood known for its older, well-kept homes. That could either work in their favor or against it. Neighborhoods tended to look out for their own and would notice any suspicious activity, but there was also a homey, “leave your doors unlocked” mentality that could be dangerous.